


for a minute there, i lost myself

by kissteethstainred



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Also Brief Mention of Suicide, Basically Mandy Season 2, F/M, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Mandy Centric, Mentions of Abortion, POV Mandy, Season 2, Season 2 Era, Will I ever stop comparing Ian to the sun?, mentions of abuse, the world may never know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-05
Updated: 2015-01-05
Packaged: 2018-03-05 12:28:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3120197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kissteethstainred/pseuds/kissteethstainred
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Milkovich house wore them down until they were nothing but the name that came with it: not their own individual, but a Milkovich. You’ve heard about them. Enough said.</p>
            </blockquote>





	for a minute there, i lost myself

**Author's Note:**

> I rather want to write angsty Season 2 fics or I want to write a million au's. Hopefully I've done Mandy justice here. Also, I'm not quite sure how much I like the ending, I was on/off about it. 
> 
> Another quick note: I was very nervous when I first posted "if you love me, won't you let me know?" and I told myself that it would take a while for my fics to get recognition and yet the morning after I posted it there were hits and kudos and comments and I'm just so, so thankful to anyone who even clicks on my fics. I'm so astounded by the response I've received, so thank you. 
> 
> This fic is for you. 
> 
> come talk to me if ya feel like talking: carlgallahgrs.tumblr.com
> 
> Any mistakes are my own.

Living in their house was like playing Clue.

She could picture their house exactly like the board game. Living room, kitchen, little entry way. Hallway. Mandy’s room, Mickey’s room, the bathroom, Terry’s room. Squished and flattened until they were reduced to a piece of cardboard.

It wasn’t a matter of who was the killer. They all knew who the killer was: Terry.

No.

The question was who was the _victim_.

Joey in the living room with the butt of a gun. Mickey in the kitchen with Terry’s fists. Mandy in her room with Terry’s body.

Mandy Milkovich was tired of playing Miss Scarlet.

\--

Mandy stole Mickey’s cigarettes from the dresser and went to the roof. Her hands were shaking so hard, it took her four tries to light the goddamn cigarette. When she exhaled, she watched the smoke fan out into the Chicago air, looking exactly like a dragon’s smoke but feeling anything but that.

Mickey didn’t take long to find her. He’d always known where her best hiding spots were.

He sat down heavily, a little behind her and to the left, and when she looked at him, he had a nasty bruise forming on the bones of his eye. After a couple of moments, he said, “You wanna share that?” His voice was rough. Mandy handed over the cigarette to him.

He exhaled shakily as he handed it back, and afterwards he licked his lips. Then he said, “ _Fuck_ , Mandy,” and she had to look away or she’d start crying. The next thing she knew, he was wrapping his arms around her waist and pressing his lips to her shoulder. Not exactly a kiss, but open-mouthed, breathing shakily. “I thought he was gonna kill me,” Mickey said, and by which he meant, _I thought he was gonna kill you_.

She agreed. When Terry had started screaming at her, he had this look in his eyes, and it was murderous. She had been scared, crowding back against Mickey’s bed, and she’d thought that it didn’t matter that Terry wasn’t holding up a gun: his fists could knock her out, maybe permanently. Only when he’d raised his fist, Mickey had jumped in front of her. Mandy had locked herself in the bathroom. Not one of her proudest moments, but right now she was trying not to think about it. It had been a long time since that had happened, Mickey taking the brunt of Terry’s anger while Mandy hid, hearing every punishment Mickey got. She felt sick.

The bruise forming on his eye was already a dark purple. Mickey in Mickey's room from Terry's hard hits. 

“I’m so tired of it,” Mandy said. Mickey’s arms around her loosened, and he looked at her. There was an incredulous look on his face.

He laughed. “Tired of which part, Mandy?” And really, that was the question, wasn’t it? What was she tired of? Terry? Terry hitting them, hitting Mickey, hitting Mandy? Being constantly scared in her house? Locking herself in the bathroom? Reliving this nightmare day after day after--

“Living,” Mandy said. A short laugh bubbled up and escaped her. She sounded slightly crazy. “I’m tired of living.”

She looked at Mickey then, and she saw it: that same hollowness in his eyes, the way he swallowed and looked away. He was tired, too. They were both so done with this.

But he was different. He was going to fight, she saw that. Well, she was going to fight too, but Mickey _wanted_ to fight. She had no idea what he was fighting for--she figured that even he didn’t know--but he was going to fight.

She took another slow drag of the cigarette and leaned back in Mickey’s arms. Mandy imagined the fight he had in him was seeping into her, and she pretended to be brave again.

\--

The only word to describe Ian Gallagher was beautiful.

It wasn’t just his looks. Ian had changed a lot: he’d grown taller, filled out into his muscles more, and while Mandy mourned the loss of a lot of his dorky freckles, she had to admit that Ian was just always going to be plain attractive.

But,

but it wasn’t just his looks. It was Ian’s personality and the way he talked and even the way he moved. All of his dreams, and even his problems, and all of the things he’d accomplished. He was beautiful.

Mandy would admit to having clung to him a little when they first became friends, but now, she truly believed that Ian loved her, that they were best friends. She hung out around him as much as she could, because that was the beauty of summer: she could hang out with him without all the homework and tests and other shit.

Mandy liked to hang out in the Gallagher house. She saw battles in that house too, but it was different. Fiona in the kitchen with familial pressure. Ian in the living room with Frank’s fist. Lip in his bedroom from Karen Jackson.

They were all fucked up too, but not in horrible ways like Mickey and Mandy. Not fucked for life, anyways. She had thought, when she first met Ian, that they would kinda welcome her, be another family, but she knew eventually that wasn’t going to happen. She saw the looks the Older Gallaghers gave her.

Fiona gave her weird looks when she and Ian first began hanging out, and she’d call him back and whisper in his ear fiercely, shooting glances at Mandy. Mandy once overheard her say, “Ian, I’m glad you got friends outside of Lip, but Mandy Milkovich?” And obviously Fiona talked about Mandy to Kevin and Veronica, because they gave her strange smiles. Veronica more, because Kevin was genuinely nice to Mandy, and she figured Vee and Fiona were way closer. Whatever.

Even Lip was the same. He gave Mandy and Mickey these condescending looks every time he saw them, like he was too good for them. Mostly he just rolled his eyes when Ian was hanging out with them, like Ian was too good for them. Mandy kind of agreed with that, but she thought that maybe if Lip and Fiona took a _condescending stick_ out of their ass and put a _compassion stick_ up there, they’d realize what Ian actually does for them.

But it was like once it reached Ian, the family was cool with Mandy. Debbie chatted with her constantly, asking for advice on things like Mandy was actually someone Debbie believed could give good advice. Carl didn’t treat her like shit but he was usually entertained by the stories she told of all the runs her brothers have done and was always asking if she and Ian could give him lessons in weaponry. Liam was chill with Mandy too, but he was like fucking two so it didn’t really count. Whatever. He liked her.

Mandy knew she could never be a Gallagher, but fuck them. Ian was her best friend.

\--

Mandy loved days where she and Mickey just sat on the couch playing video games. Especially when they got drunk or high, because they were so much slower. They died more often, and instead of getting angry, they usually just laughed so fucking hard because the way they died was so fucking funny. Everything felt good. She and Mickey laughed so much.

Mickey was playing by himself while Mandy ate some nachos that she’d made. Mickey’s focus was all on the video game, so Mandy studied him. There was something different about him, something about the last stint in juvie that changed him. Maybe he’d just grown older, if seventeen was fucking old for him. He didn’t say as much stupid shit. Well, that was kinda wrong. Mandy figured that to other people, everything they said was stupid shit. But she could tell the difference, the way he moved and the way he spoke. Once, when she mentioned that she was glad school was over, he said vehemently, “You’re still going the fuck back, Mandy.” When had he given a fuck about her school life? And he got a job too. He could claim all he wanted that it was just for his parole, but Mandy knew he liked it. Ian Gallagher grew on you, and Mickey and Ian were something close to friends. Colleagues, at most, but they were getting there.

She studied Mickey as he played the game. He reminded her of someone, although she couldn’t exactly pinpoint it. Something to do with his face. His face was cleaner that she remembered, scruff marking his jawline where he hadn’t shaved. His hair was still as dark, and his skin was pale, but she couldn’t exactly pinpoint it. He cursed when he died, looking at her, and she said, “Fucking loser,” and he laughed before starting over again. It wasn’t his mouth. _Ah_ , his eyes. His eyes reminded her . . . of who?

It couldn’t be Terry. Mickey was nothing like Terry, something Mandy saw now. For a while, in the years where Mickey wanted to please Terry and fit in, he’d acted like Terry and their older brothers, becoming another fit in the Milkovich mold. Terry’s children were almost complete. But something in Mickey changed, thankfully, around fourteen, and Mandy stopped hating him for what he’d become. She and him were suddenly closer. But Mandy knew there was some tiny part of him that was still vying for Terry’s love or approval or whatever was close to it.

It wasn’t their mom, either. If Mickey was still trying to get Terry’s attention, then Mandy was trying to get their mom’s. She wanted to uphold something, she guessed. Maybe to prove to her mom that _fuck her_ , they could do it without her, they could beat Terry Milkovich. That Mandy was a girl in the Milkovich household and _survived_. But there was another part of Mandy that wanted her mother to love her, to congratulate her for how she’s survived, to braid her hair, to just be girls with a secret code of girl things. Like Fiona and Debbie had.

Mickey wasn’t like their mom. Anything he had of her had been lost in the years that he’d tried to fit Terry’s mold.

Then it hit her. Mickey reminded Mandy of _herself_. The idea was so stunning that Mandy laughed.

When Mickey turned to her, asking, “What’s so fucking funny, huh?” She just smiled at him. Fuck, she must be drunker than she thought.

“When we were little,” she began, and when Mickey’s eyebrows raised to prompt her, she said, “when we were little, I always wished that we were born twins.”

Mickey looked shock for a moment. Maybe he was especially drunk too, because he’d usually say “Whatever” to this type of shit. Emotional things were not Mickey’s area. But instead he said, “That’d be a fucking nightmare.” Mandy was hurt, because she’d always loved that idea, of them being closer than they were now, until Mickey said, “Can you imagine all the shit we’d get into? Fuck, we’d be monsters. Absolutely crazy.” He was grinning, like the idea was appealing.

“We’d run this fucking town,” Mandy said. Mickey threw his head back and laughed. “Menaces, but amazing, you know?”

Mickey smiled at her, biting the corner of his lip. “Menaces, but amazing,” he repeated. “Yeah. I know.”

\--

Mandy might as well be an unofficial employee of the Kash and Grab for how much she spent there. Not that she did any work, but she figured two Milkovich glares of death really stop people from wanting to steal.

Mickey and Ian were having an argument over which _Fast and the Furious_ movie was best out of the franchise. Mandy liked to watch them argue, mostly because the amount of times Ian rolled his eyes at Mickey was entertaining and because Ian could actually keep up the argument. Usually Mandy just gave up because trying to sway Mickey was way too hard, but Ian stuck with it, even if he gave shitty ass arguments. Most of the time, their arguments ended in them laughing.

Mandy did what she usually did in these arguments: give them a third option. “Both of you are wrong,” Mandy said, and Mickey and Ian gave her equal exasperated looks. “Obviously _Fast & Furious_ was the best one,” which Mickey and Ian both started protesting immediately and arguing against her. Not that she believed, or cared, which movie was the best, but she loved rattling them up. These were her boys.

The discussion got them talking about movies, and Ian asked Mandy if she wanted to go to one later tonight. “Yeah, I don’t have anything to do,” she said, and she and him began talking about which movies were out.

Mandy noticed Mickey watching them while she and Ian were talking. Mickey was leaning against the glass case next to the register, and there was a faint smile on his lips. He look in his eyes could only be . . . fond. Like watching her talk to Ian suddenly burst all these brotherly feelings inside of him. When Ian went to check out a customer, Mandy turned to Mickey and stuck out her tongue at him. He flipped her off, and they both turned away, smiling broadly.

She noticed him watching Ian, too. Sometimes it was fond, like whenever Ian made a dorky joke or talked about West Point. Mickey got this look in his eyes, like he really admired Ian for what he was doing. Sometimes it was a strange look--not fond, exactly, but speculative, like he was thinking about something, something that had to do with Ian.

Linda walked in with her kids at some point, and when she noticed Mandy and Mickey, she muttered, “God, it’s like you guys multiply,” but she let Mandy stay, and, “I’m not paying you, Mandy!” Ian grinned at Mandy, and when Linda was gone, he said, “I think she actually likes me, you know, even after the whole fucking her husband thing.”

Mandy shot a look at Mickey, worried for a second, but Mickey was restocking some drink and didn’t hear. Or if he did hear, Mandy figured he didn’t care. It came as a surprising relief.

She watched Ian and Mickey close up the store, and there was an interesting rhythm they had, like they had a list of what each should check and where the other would be. It made Mandy’s heart warm.

 _They are my boys_ , she thought.

\--

Mandy might never be a Gallagher, but Ian was one-hundred percent a Milkovich.

He just got them on a level that no one else had even bothered to understand. He understood their scars and Mickey’s tattoos and their loud, brash behavior. He walked around with them without any judgement, and he got mad when people even looked at Mandy strange. He didn’t think their house was grubby and gross, like most people did. Other people stepped daintily through their house, or not at all, like they would catch a disease. Ian walked in as if he had been born there along with everybody else.

Their house was dark, not much color, and smelled musty (sometimes grosser), and it was pretty disgusting sometimes. Their house was this strange solar system: everywhere there was low-light, Mandy’s room, Mickey’s room, living room. White walls but low-lit, grey floors, grey furniture, color sprinkled in there. That was the empty space. Mandy’s room and Mickey’s room were the prettier pockets of space, supernovas and galaxies, brightly colored and with character, but even Mandy’s purple seemed uncheerful and Mickey’s red a little too close to blood. The stars were the spaces of light: through the living room windows, even through those dreary curtains, the windows in Mandy’s room, from the TV screen. Mandy and Mickey were the planets, orbiting through the same routine day after day. Terry was a black hole, ripping through space and sucking everything of life.

This was their house, a strange mix of galaxies and stars in space. Ian Gallagher fit into it better than imagined, because he was the sun.

He had this gravitation. If Mickey and Mandy were the planets, they followed his voice into rooms and around Southside. Rooms seemed brighter from his light. Ian made the guns and the knives and axes look less grimy, less destructive; he made them reflect light, like they were something nice.

He understood the problems Mandy (and Mickey) had with Terry, all the shitty things with their father and mother, how their siblings might disappoint them sometimes. He understood the struggles with school and the demands to meet it (and Lip’s) expectations. He knew what it was like to feel hopeless but also like he wanted to get out of this fucked up city forever. He understood them so well, it was hard for Mandy to understand how Fiona could look down on Mandy, because surely if Ian has the same experiences, all the Gallaghers do.

Ian was also a Milkovich in ways Mandy never wanted him to be: he was terrified of Terry Milkovich.

Ian and Mandy were in the kitchen, making grilled cheeses and tater tots before they continued watching TV, when the front door burst open. Mandy jumped at the fridge, but she and Ian didn’t do anything yet; maybe they thought it was Mickey, a very angry Mickey. But when Terry stumbled heavily into the living room, Mandy and Ian both froze. Mandy was gripping the fridge door tightly, and she noticed the tension in Ian’s body, spatula in hand. Terry noticed them, and Mandy knew that he was drunk when he met her eyes. She was scared. When Terry was drunk, anything could set him off.

Mandy and Ian in the kitchen with Terry’s fists.

Instead, Terry stumbled down the hallway into another room. When he disappeared, Mandy let out a long exhale, before moving to Ian, where he was still frozen. She put an arm on his bicep, coming around to face him, and she noticed the expression in his eyes. It wasn’t like Mandy’s: Mandy froze, made herself small, avertavertavert her eyes, and hoped Terry didn’t do anything. Ian was looking after Terry defiantly, with hatred in his eyes, and Mandy realized that the tension wasn’t just in fear: Ian was ready to pounce.

She said a quiet, “Hey,” and he unfroze, turned to her with a smile on his face. He returned to the grilled cheese, which hadn’t burned in the seconds of Terry being there, and continued like nothing happened, exactly like the way Milkoviches do.

But this was different, Mandy thought as she poured frozen tater tots on a pan, thinking on Ian’s expression. Maybe next time, it won’t be Ian or Mandy or Mickey in a room with Terry’s punches; maybe, just maybe, it will be Terry in a room with Ian’s fists.

\--

Mandy didn’t know why she slept with Lip.

It’s not like he truly appreciated her or understood her or even wanted her. And she knew she was this lameass rebound from Karen Jackson, but you know what? Fuck him.

Maybe she just liked the defensive way he was around Debbie at her party. She liked the look he gave her when she laughed at one of his jokes that Holly and Carl and Debbie didn’t get, like he hadn’t known she could a) understand what he probably thought were intelligent jokes and b) get his sense of humor. There was a different look in his eye than the usual condescending one.

Fuck him.

So she did.

\--

Mickey was more than a little drunk. Like, he was really fucking drunk.

They were sitting out on the back porch, both of them sitting in shorts and tank tops. The summer heat was kind of nice on this night, almost as if the heat of summer makes the night hazier. Maybe Mandy was just as drunk as Mickey. But she felt warm, comfortably so, on the inside and outside. The beer made her body feel warm even as it was cool down her throat, the cigarette made her chest feel warm, and the summer air finished off the rest. It was nice.

Mickey was telling her this story about a weird ass customer who kept asking for a product they didn’t fucking have at the Kash and Grab, and Mandy was laughing so hard that she began to snort, just a little, laughs hiccuping out of her and hurting, but Mandy had never felt a hurt that felt so good as this one.

“Ian’s just so fucking ridiculous,” she said, taking a drink of her beer. Paused, flicked shit off of her cigarette. “Do you like him?”

Mickey turned his head so fast to look at her that she was surprised he didn’t break his neck. “What the fuck are you talking about?” he demanded, his voice strange.

Mandy was shocked, and drunk, so she stuttered out a, “A-aren’t you guys friends now?” When he relaxed, she said, “Fuck, I just thought, you guys are working together. Damn.”

Mickey ran a hand over his head and muttered a quick, “Sorry.” Then he shrugged and said, “I mean, sure, the kid is cool. I like him. He’s almost less annoying than before, but only slightly.” Mandy laughed, cutting it short when Mickey said: “I kind of hate him.”

“What? Why?”

“He thinks, like, everyone is a good fucking person and everything will turn out okay and just--like he can actually do these things that, that Southside kids just can’t,” Mickey said, sounding bitter. He took a long drink from his beer and then crushed the can when he was done, burping at the end.

Mandy could sympathize. When she had first become friends with Ian, she’d enjoyed hanging out with him, but she couldn’t help but hate how much better his life seemed compared to hers, the family he had, the optimism he held. It hadn’t been fair to her. But she didn’t think that now; she’d hated him like this when she had been in love with him.

Mandy froze. And then slowly turned to Mickey. She looked him over, the way his shoulders were hunched, the way he looked into the distance, and the way he sucked on his cigarette. Mickey was feeling the same things that she had when she’d loved Ian, but that didn’t mean that Mickey did, right?

But then she thought about it. It took her a long time too, because she was drunk as fuck, but she tried to focus and it slowly pieced together. The gun, first. And then . . . Ian announcing he fucked a new guy, a guy deep in the closet. And what else? Ian always being happy about coming over, but they’d been best friends. Oh, god, picking Mickey up from juvie. And the fucking job at Kash and Grab. How could she have been so blind?

“ _Mickey_ ,” she blurted out, voice strangled and hoarse. He gave her a strange look, and she realized that they hadn’t spoken in a while, that she’d been quiet for a long time. She thought, _how could you not tell me, Mickey?_ and then she simply thought nothing. She was surprisingly good at that. “Never mind,” she said, putting the cigarette in her mouth. “It was nothing. Nothing at all.”

\--

Mickey fucked up and was sent back to juvie. His voice was rough over the phone, curt and hard, and she realized that he had transformed back, back into the Mickey Milkovich from before his first juvie stint. Not the Mickey that she’d been so close with over the summer. She knew from his voice that he wasn’t going to tell her anything, so she gave up asking what happened. Let him revert to the unemotional, unfeeling Mickey Milkovich.

She hadn’t realized, up until then, that Mickey had been protecting her. He had been protecting her in little, quiet, subtle ways that she didn’t even recognize. That she’s not even sure Terry recognized.

He had been a shield, standing in front of her and defending her.

She hadn’t understood that until it was Mandy.

Mandy in her room, in her bed, with Terry’s body and his hands and--

\--

Mandy shut Ian out and went into protective mode. If Mickey wasn’t her shield anymore, she was going to have to do this on her own. She left that fucking house with the desire to burn her bed. Her Aunt didn’t ask questions, which was amazing to Mandy. She kept to herself, quiet, biting on her fingernails and slowly building a bubble that protected her from the panic.

Until Lip burst that bubble.

Fuck him. Fuck him for thinking that the baby was his, fuck him for his little wooden picket fence dream he had of being a Southside fuck up with a baby on the way. She knew he would want to be a father, dropout of high school, because it was such an easy and permanent solution to him having to actually deal with his problems.

Fuck Karen Jackson for putting the idea in his head.  

She should have known that the part of him that looked down on her had never left, because when he found out who the father of her baby was, she could have murdered him for the way he said, “Your dad?” So she pointed the gun at his head and threatened his life. She had cleaned that linoleum floor of blood plenty of times before.

When Ian stayed behind, she wanted to run to him, and the explanation she offered felt cold and weighted coming out of her mouth. Planned, almost, like she was already excusing it. Honestly, how many times could Miss Scarlet be the victim? Weren’t there other players?

Until Ian looked up, and she saw that expression on his face. No, no, no. It was just like the other Gallaghers, Lip and Fiona and Vee, and she couldn’t lose him now. She snarled at him, “Watch that fucking look on your face,” and because he was turning to be like the others, “A _Gallagher_ looking down on me? I don’t think so!”

Immediately, his shoulders hunched forwards and he turned away, leaning against the frame, and when he turned to her again, she saw the apology in his eyes. He already wanted her forgiveness.

“We can raise the money,” he said, and his facial expression confirmed that he believed it. And he was so, so optimistic, wasn’t he? Mickey would hate him. Mandy didn’t, just let herself go to him, hands on his neck. “You’re my girlfriend,” Ian explained, like she hadn’t screwed Lip and like he hadn’t screwed Mickey.

So, so optimistic, and she, so pessimistic; she couldn’t believe it when they actually raised the money.

\--

Mandy felt hollow on the inside. Used, a little bit. Scraped out, definitely.

She sat on her couch, stuffing her face with a pint of ice-cream and watching _The Walking Dead_. She could handle zombies better than she could sitcoms, because sitcoms were usually all family-oriented and she didn’t want to feel shitty because her own family wasn’t some slapstick comedy. She chose the zombies instead: better to watch a world that was worse than your own to feel better about yourself.

Except the main woman Lori was giving birth and it was so painful and the baby was screaming and the kid shot his mom and fuck this, she couldn’t watch it. What the fuck.

It wasn’t like she wanted a fucking kid. She never had. And definitely not by the standards by which it had been . . . created. Disgusting.

Really, when it came down to the bottom line, Mandy thought about her mother.

How had her mother been thirteen and had children? Was she terrified? Had she thought Terry would protect them? What could possibly have gone through her mind? Had she known when she was going to die, or had she had faith that she would live, or had she been trying to die for ages?

Mandy knew why she couldn’t have a child. She couldn’t love it. Not because she couldn’t love children, but she knew she would always think of how that child came to be, what happened to her, and she would always have hesitation. She would be exactly like her mother, the side of her mother she had never wanted to be, the one who ignored her own children and left them for dead. Literally: she died and her children were now in peril. Mandy could never do that to a child. Or at least, she never wanted to.

Baby Milkovich in the Milkovich house with negligence. Was Mandy talking about the baby she would’ve had or all of the children her mother had? Who knows. Mandy had the abortion and that was it. It was final.

There was a hard pounding on the door that made her turn the TV off and get up. She stretched before answering the door, because she hadn’t done anything for days, and when she opened it, Ian was standing there.

“Hey,” he said, kind of breathlessly. She nodded at him, gripping the doorknob. They hadn’t really talked much after raising the money, and while Ian had offered to go with her, she wouldn’t allow it. “I kinda have a surprise for you. Are you free?” Mandy nodded and went with him.

Ian took her to his house, which shouldn’t have been a surprise. Debbie waved to her, calling out a, “Hey, Mandy!” that made her smile. Ian dragged her through the house until they were climbing to the top of the roof.

“Ian, what the hell is going on?” she asked as she climbed up after him.

He helped her up the last part and then showed her the roof. He’d set up two little foldable chairs right next to each other, a bucket flipped upside down to serve as a table. There were beer bottles in a little cooler and junk food everywhere. When she looked at Ian, he shrugged, hands in his pockets. “Figured you weren’t feeling too well, wanted to cheer you up,” he said, and she didn’t understand this boy who knew her so well.

They sat down in the chairs, opening up Snickers and Doritos and other junk food. Mandy practically ripped the Hot Cheetos from Ian’s hands because he knew she loved them. He was telling this story about Debbie and Carl while munching on whatever, and it was the same act she had been doing but so much different. Instead of watching TV, they watched the sunset. Instead of ice cream, it was other delicious junk food. And she wasn’t sitting there alone, thinking about the abortion: Ian was with her to distract her from it. Mandy wasn’t really sure whether the sun was setting or sitting next to her, but it didn’t matter because she was warm.

Eventually she turned her chair so that it faced his, putting her legs over his. Ian smiled at her and didn’t complain, just kept talking to her quietly. She wondered if she would ever get over her small crush on him and then decided: _Fuck it_. Ian Gallagher could have two Milkovich soulmates. Mickey could be all that true love soulmate shit; Mandy would give it to him. But Mandy was the best friend soulmate, platonically made to be around Ian and be there for each other.

She could do that.

\--

Ian was a Milkovich, because like them, he was fading.

Mandy lost parts of herself all the time. She lost herself when her father hit her, when he put his hands on her in other ways. She lost pieces when she just let guys fuck her that she didn’t care for. She lost pieces of herself with her mother, with Mickey.

Mickey lost himself every time Terry hit him, she was sure of it. Every time he had to fuck yet another girl, that she was even more sure of. Every time he had to watch Mandy get hurt. Every time he was hurt by anything outside of Terry.

The Milkovich house wore them down until they were nothing but the name that came with it: not their own individual, but a Milkovich. You’ve heard about them. Enough said.

Ian was fading too. Something in him had changed when Mickey had gone to juvie. Mandy assumed a big falling out had happened, because he’d told her sadly, “Nah, the guy’s just gone again. Big fight. Not quite sure what’ll happen when he returns.” He lost something in Mickey. He lost something every time he came to Mandy to tell her about how his family seemed to forget him sometimes, how Frank hated him the most. Lost himself over the West Point guy wanting Lip.  

Ian lost a large piece of himself when Monica slit her wrists. He kinda just lost it in general. He was fading, Mandy could see it.

There was a hollowness in his eyes, the same hollowness she’d seen in Mickey’s, the one that had been reflected from her own when she’d said, “I’m tired of living.” Ian felt it, the weight of living here. But he was like Mickey. _Better_ than Mickey, because while Mickey had no idea why he was fighting, Ian did. Ian fought for his family, for West Point, for freedom, for what he wanted. Mickey would fight without knowing why. Mandy was so, so tired of fighting.

“You should go visit him,” Mandy suggested to him. When Ian gave her a confused look, she said, “Your guy? Maybe go apologize.” If he lost something in Mickey, he could get it back. Mickey would let him. Fix a part of himself that was gone. God knows Mandy wished she could.

Ian shook his head. They were walking under the el, coming back from having lunch in this little run down diner with pretty good food. The summer seemed to be ending, warm light already fading into biting autumn winds. Mandy soaked in the sun as much as she could before they had to run back into the routine of school and work and cold days. “He’s gone, remember?” Ian said.

Mandy paused where she was and decided that she didn’t give a fuck if Ian knew that she’d figured it out. “Mickey’s juvie is only about thirty minutes away. I’ll visit him. You can come,” she said.

Ian froze where he was, and then he looked to her. “Mandy, oh my god, I’m so sorry--”

“Forget about the apologies,” Mandy said, smiling at him. “Just . . . tell me about it. From the beginning.” Ian slowly began to unfreeze, looking uncertain. But he talked, and as he talked, he became more comfortable, because talking about Ian’s boys was familiar territory for them.

As it turned out, Mandy rather liked Mickey and Ian’s story from the beginning. She was surprised to find out what a heavy part she played in it. Her boys.

\--

Ian Gallagher, Mandy Milkovich, and Mickey Milkovich in Southside, Chicago. With simply their lives to put them down.

**Author's Note:**

> title from Karma Police by Radiohead, though I listen to Panic! at the Disco's cover


End file.
